


The Coffee Interludes

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-04
Updated: 2006-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-01 00:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10176773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: There had been a time where a cup of coffee meant a moment to yourself. Boy, was he everdisabused of that notion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

| 1 | 

| NC-17 | 

| PWP, Coffee abuse | 

| DM/Various |

/ There had been a time where a cup of coffee meant a moment to yourself. Boy, was he ever disabused of that notion.\

| Notes: Inspired by an unintentional perv-moment with Lex. There are just certain things that go very well with coffee and I don’t mean biscuits. | 

| Disclaimer: There is absolutely no profit being made off any of this. The copyrighted characters and their world are being used without permission and for personal entertainment only. We are not claiming any of them are ours, we only claim our respective characters and the story. All things "Harry Potter" are owned by JK Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros., Inc. This work is not intended to challenge the copyright in any way. |

* * *

Draco Malfoy was not a morning person. 

There were many people who could vouch for this claim and there would be many more to come if he had something to say about it. It was said that one unlucky Slytherin who had attempted to speak to said Malfoy before he had his first cup of coffee still had nightmares about the day.

Draco accepted this much as one would accept a birthmark; it was there and it wasn’t going anywhere soon. 

His mother and numerous house elves had fallen prey to his temper and inability to think in the morning and that had resulted in his exile from the manor. He was most welcome, as long as he remained in his rooms until he ‘woke up’. His father’s decision had been final, Draco needed to be on his own for the good of the entire Malfoy household.

Also, there was the bit where Draco had refused to take the mark.

Ever since he had joined the Order the kitchen seemed strangely empty in the early hours of the morning. With the move to the Be Raishith estate, which was Draco’s property, everything was postponed for a full hour. This was a good thing too as Draco Malfoy could not stand loud noises either.

At times a dishevelled Severus would walk past him silently and take two cups up to his room and Bill would grunt something that passed for ‘g mornin’ and take a full pot out in to the gardens. Draco didn’t begrudge them this; they were only acting on the effects of the Draco-Malfoy-Coffee-Plague™.

They had been training more rigorously and just about every one of the junior members doubted their chosen side. They were all sure that not even Voldemort could be as cruel as their instructors. Draco Malfoy didn’t much mind, he had no other options.

This of course did mean that mornings became an even bigger obstacle for those around him.  
HR>  
Draco slumps in to the chair which is his in all respects save that it doesn’t have ‘Draco Malfoy’ written on the back. The single house elf he owns knows his routine well, so she makes a very large quantity of coffee and charms the pots to remain hot. After that she sets an ashtray on the table and removes herself quietly. She has learned it well because she doesn’t fancy another singed ear.

* * *

“See, I told you. He’s there every bloody morning.”  
“Dear Hecate, would you look at that.”

“I _am_ looking!”

“Shht! Will you three _be quiet_?”

* * *

As he tends to do, Bill Weasley stumbles in to the kitchen and straight to one of the pots. Draco is too immersed in his cup to notice that the man has broken with tradition and is sitting opposite of him.

After his first sip of coffee his hand reaches for the box on the table, he isn’t aware that he is doing it as he was on automatic pilot every morning until after the second cup of bliss. 

His fingers quest across the surface, looking for the box, when a hand covers his own. 

The automatic pilot protests this and shuts off, so he is forced to become coherent. After a few blinks his eyes settle on the lazy smile on Bill Weasley’s face. Draco frowns, this was not in the script for his morning.

He tries to protest, but his mouth refuses to produce any sounds other than a very raspy ‘ hhhn’.

“You know, Draco, this really has to stop,” Bill says and Draco struggles to understand. Before he can though, Bill continues.

“Sitting here, like master of the world, that hair of yours falling in your face just so.” 

His voice has changed, there is a tone of urgency in his words which Draco would have recognized had he been awake. As it is, he doesn’t, and ignores the Weasley. He is sure that whatever it is, it can wait until he’s lucid.

Bill on the other hand can’t wait, he has waited enough, he thinks. He leaves his cup and gets to his feet, within seconds he is standing before Draco, looking down on the impassive blond. Draco actually welcomes the shade Bill provides for him, other than that he doesn’t care.

When his shoulders are seized he mewls in protest but it is hardly recognised as such.

“And that robe! Nothing but silk for the Malfoy heir, nothing but the clingy fabric which he lets fall open to reveal the most tantalising places,” Bill continues.

Draco’s frown deepens. If Bill can’t wait another hour he would just have to remind him why it is prudent to do so none the less. He tries to remember where his wand is, if he has it in his pocket or somewhere else. He knows from experience that it is not a good idea to try wandless magic in his state so he tries really hard to remember.

Bill has no patience left al all it seems, he grabs Draco by the waist and lifts him on top of the table, knocking everything aside in the process. He can’t be bothered to think about passers-by or anything else, he just knows that he needs to desecrate that pale flesh that has haunted his mornings.

When he grinds against Draco’s groin there can be no misunderstanding of his intent, morning or not. Bill moves in an attempt to kiss him but Draco purses his lips together and averts his head. If there was even a more disgusting thing than morning-breath kisses, he was yet to find it.

Bill doesn’t seem to mind much, he occupies himself with the soft flesh of Draco’s neck instead, nuzzling and licking his way up to the earlobe which he softly bites. Draco stays quiet during the entire thing, not yet able to produce anything articulate.

Bill takes his silence as acceptance and disrobes the blond. He puts his hands on Draco’s thighs and pushes his legs apart, sinking to his knees.

“How I have waited for this, Malfoy, how I have waited,” he mumbles.

He cups his balls and fondles them with skill that tells of much practice and Draco sighs with pleasure. His vision slowly becomes foggier but he can’t find it in himself to mind much because Bill is squeezing his cock with the same practiced skill and before he knows it the hand it replaced with a warm tongue. 

That tongue swirls around the head of his rapidly stiffening arousal before teasing down to his balls and then up again. With one smooth move Bill draws his entire cock in to his mouth and hums with such apparent pleasure that Draco wonders what he’d been used to before if he found him so delectable.

Far too soon his body betrays him and the force of his climax forces him to lie back on the table. He wishes he could groan so he could let it all out but his mouth refuses any cooperation. 

He can’t make up his mind if he wants to kill the redhead or ask for seconds. No one had ever been bold enough to try what Bill did to him before and he’s not so sure any more why not. 

Bill appears in his line of vision and that smile reminds Draco of his father a frightening lot but there is something about it that is alluring none the less.

His hair is a mess and Draco wonders if he had been clutching it because the braid is unravelling and locks of that hair that had been kissed by fire tumble down to his chest. It tickles him but he is disappointed when Bill throws it over his shoulder. It is such a lovely bunch of ginger ribbons.

“Thanks babe,” Bill says and kisses him on the nose.

Draco can’t help but frown, ‘thanks babe’? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He shakes his head and tries to get back up but finds he can’t. Bill offers a hand and pulls him to a sitting position. He then turns away and takes one of the pots. 

“Must do again some time,” he says and leaves Draco in the mess.

Draco growls in the back of his throat and, rules and logic be damned, gets himself a fresh cup of coffee without his wand. This makes him dizzy as usual, but he thinks it is worth it. Slumping back it his chair he cradles the cup and swears to it that he won’t leave it even if Voldemort decides to attack in the next hour.

* * *

“Oh my various gods. The ballsy fuck!”

 

“Which of the two?”

 

“I’m a bit more concerned with my own at the moment, thank you very much.”

* * *

Draco doesn’t even look up when he hears the door open. He is thoroughly convinced that if he ignores it, it will go away. He is only at his second refill, denial is his friend. 

The heavy footsteps don’t sound familiar so he risks a glance at the intruder and finds himself face to face with Sirius Black. The man is more than a little flushed and Draco tries to remember if it is him or his werewolf who jogs every morning.

“Good morning Draco!” he says cheerfully and Draco cringes. He is after all the founder of the ‘How To Stop Yourself From Killing All The People Who Can Be Chipper In The Morning’ club.

He notices that the man is looking at him as if he were some hors ‘d oeuvre and realises that he hasn’t bothered to close his robe after Bill left. He looks up at Sirius with more than a little animosity in his stare and then turns back to his coffee. He is still holding on to denial. Clinging, in fact. 

Oh, he has noticed the obvious bulge in the man’s pyjama pants. They are atrocious, nearly translucent from wear. He will try to remember to invest in a new pair for him, if not for Sirius’ than for his own sake. One can only tolerate so many swollen penises a day.

He can hardly hold the man’s morning wood against him, but something tells him that there is more at play here.

When a hand brushes his hair out of his eyes he knows he is right. 

He attempts to get up and make a run for it together with his coffee but Sirius is faster than he has expected. Perhaps he is just slower. Strong hands grab his shoulders and push him back in to his chair. He glares up at his assailant, who grins back.

“Now, now, is that any way to behave?” Sirius says and sits on his lap, trapping him.

“ hrrrmmmh,” Draco says, but what he wants to say is ‘get off you bloody idiot, you’re cutting off my circulation’.

His vision goes back to fuzzy again when Sirius’ warm mouth brushes over his collarbone and shoulder, the man’s hands are suddenly everywhere at once and the warmth is back again. He makes noises that sound a bit strangled when Sirius licks his nipple and the noises are apparently again misinterpreted because he starts sucking and nipping, his hands find their way to Draco’s arse and gods he never knew it was possible to be pulled so close to someone.

Sirius is rough, probably how his wolf likes it, and Draco suddenly understands the attraction most feel to him. So that is what it’s like to play with a rebel, he thinks. Large hands in which his ass fits perfectly kneed and pinch exactly how he likes it, the softness of a mouth coupled with frighteningly sharp teeth on his nipples produces the ideal mix of pleasure and pain. He imagines that a stay in Azkaban seriously strengthens one’s desires and in Sirius it shows.

“Damn, but you taste good,” Sirius says in to his skin.

Draco wants to tell him that of course he tastes good. He is bred and groomed to perfection and not some half blood wizard or carnivore. He doesn’t bother though because Sirius isn’t really waiting for an answer. He is again lifted to the table but Sirius takes the time to move his coffee out of the way first. He pulls Draco to the edge and spreads his legs again. 

If it would be anything like the previous time Draco was perfectly willing to let it happen. When Sirius actually starts licking from his balls _down_ he knows that it will not be. He has heard of it, he has wondered about it, even fantasised. He has not, ever, imagined it would be as mind-blowing as it is.

The wetness along his crack already has him squirming in to the touch and when Sirius’ tongue pushes inside him he forgets all about how it is supposedly disgusting and that it is supposedly   
degrading. He can’t imagine how anyone could _not_ like it. They had probably never had anyone stick their tongue so far that it tickled their brains.

Sirius stops what he’s doing and gets to his feet again, his breath tickles Draco’s groin as he exhales. He stares at the man with what he hopes is a warning in his eyes but he is ignored. The atrocious pyjama pants are gone and Draco gasps at the size of the man. He has been around the block a time or two, but his block has consisted of _boys_.

He watches Sirius suck his fingers and sends a prayer to Morrigan, hoping for the best. He is reminded of exactly why she is his favourite deity when those fingers sink in to him and he can feel them brushing against something that makes him clench his teeth so he will not scream.

“Ah fuck, I hope you’re ready cause I sure am,” he hears and then a cock is pushing against his entrance and he forgets himself as it sinks deep in to him. His legs are slung over Sirius’ shoulders and he clings to the table which doesn’t help much as it rocks along with the thrusts, the agonisingly slow thrusts.

A faint ‘sorry’ is all he gets before the pace increases and he hangs on for dear life because that cock brushes against the same spot every damn time and a hand is wrapped around his own erection. Even though all Sirius can manage at the moment is squeezing the head of his erection in time with the thrusts it is more than enough to bring him over the edge yet again in his muddled state.

A few more thrusts and he can feel something wet trickling down his crack. Sirius puts his face against his abdomen and pants with his tongue hanging out. Draco fancies that this will have been about equal to a morning jog.

“Geroff,” he mutters and is surprised that it sounds vaguely human.

Sirius complies and slumps in to Draco’s chair. His pyjama pants are still around his ankles and if he hadn’t been annoyed, Draco would have been amused. He looks for his cup and spots it on the floor in a hundred pieces. If such a thing was visible there would be little storm clouds and lightning bolts around his head. He drags himself to the cupboards and takes another cup out. One bit of wandless magic a morning is enough.

He drags himself back to his chair and frowns at Sirius. The man has the most infuriating sated expression and is sitting in Draco’s chair. He smiles and gets up so Draco can take a seat again. He picks the robe off the floor and wraps it around the boy’s shoulders.

He leans closer and kisses him on his jaw. 

“You really are delicious,” he says and walks off happily. 

Well. It seems to be turning in to a habit. Draco briefly wonders if he is still sleeping but he reassures himself that his dreams are never that strange. He grabs the box off the table and takes a cigarette out. With one last glare at the door he turns back to his coffee and starts a string of mental apologies that would have caused his friends to drag him to St Mungo’s in a second had they been around to hear him utter them.

* * *

“That’s not fair!”

“But it was most entertaining. Come on.”

* * *

Draco curses his own stupidity for not locking the door when it swings open a third time. It is slightly pointless to lock a door in a house full of wizards but he berates himself for not having tried it anyway.

“Hey.”

He looks up and sees the two standing at the other side of the table. The distance is reassuring. He is bolder for it.

“What, come to taste the morning’s special? Is rape a new Gryffindor tradition perhaps?” he says spitefully.

“Oh yes, you seemed to mind  
 _so much_.”

He resents that but then he understands and he chokes on his coffee, his hand pauses in mid air over the ashtray.

“You were watching me.”

“Now Draco, please don’t…” the other tries but Draco will have none of it. 

“You were watching me,” he repeats. “You bloody Gryffindor perverts. Just waiting for the best opportunity to get at me are we? Tell me, did you draw straws to determine who would go first? Or was it a manlier contest, something like comparing the length of your pricks, which decided it.” 

He jumps out of his chair, the robe sliding off his shoulders. 

“Well then, let’s get on with it. It’s your turn, right? Everyone else had theirs. Why not   
_you_.”

They hadn’t expected it to be like this. They hadn’t dared hope that he would submit to them. They hadn’t expected him to be lucid, but he is. Amazing, what a morning shag did to you. He watches as they look at each other for a moment and he can tell some sort of understanding has been reached. There is just no telling what this will mean for him.

“You are right Draco. We have been watching you. And we will continue to watch you parade that cocky arse in front of us, always an inch out of reach. Only today, Draco, we will gain that inch on you,” the werewolf says and his lips go dry.

This, he hadn’t quite expected.

“I do not  
 _parade_.” he says, but it sounds hollow even to him.

“Oh yes you do. You wrap yourself in silks and sheer shirts, clingy leather and casually expose pieces of skin, perfect, soft skin. Do you know how it feels when your hand lingers a second longer than necessary on my shoulder or my back? Do you know how you _smell_ , Draco?” Harry says and suddenly he is breathless. 

Harry has used the temporary eyesight correction charm, he uses it every day now that they have to duel more often. Draco has noticed it before, but never from so close up. He has to admit to himself that Potter’s eyes look even better than he had imagined before. There is a depth to them that swirls around, even though eyes do   
_not swirl_. He has to remind himself when he looks in to Harry’s eyes.

Looking at Remus isn’t much better. When he focuses on his eyes there is only the wild wolf inside, the amber burns like power does. Come close and lose a finger. Come too close and lose everything. 

“So what will you do about it then?” he whispers, not to them but they can’t tell. 

He knows how they will read in to his words and this time, he doesn’t mind. He is more curious if anything, and apprehensive. Those two are not of this world, someone had once said. He couldn’t recall who it was but he agrees. The one moves with the grace of a predator and the other, the other is serpentine.

They encircle him and he feels more   
_bare_ than just unclothed, unclothed has never been difficult. It is bare that he has problems with. 

With complete disregard for his personal boundaries Harry ravages his mouth while Remus buries his face in the soft hair on Draco’s neck. ‘So this is temptation,’ he thinks. If there is something stronger, he fears it.

Harry takes his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs gently. He moves to his shoulder and walks around to his back while Remus takes his place. The werewolf grins and Draco wonders for a moment about the teeth but he gets to feel them soon enough, that and something else. He catches it between his own teeth, making Remus wince. He quickly lets go and the werewolf smiles. He opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out.

“I was young and then I grew attached to it,” he offers as explanation for the shiny red ball on the centre of his tongue. Draco raises an eyebrow and decides that more testing is warranted. He pulls Remus back and plays with the tongue, enjoying the feel of the piercing. It is novel and not at all unpleasant. He decides it is a  
 _good thing_ and leaves it at that.

They pull him to the floor and he frowns, what an undignified place to do this. Although the kitchen table is not much better the floor is certainly a _not done_ in the book of Malfoy rules. He decides to forgo the rule of only one wandless spell a morning and transfigures the table in to a bed. It looks awfully out of place but it is better than the floor.

Remus soon gets the hint and lifts him on to the white sheets. Harry, not wanting to feel left out, slips out of his sweatpants and joins them on the bed. Draco is nearly lost in the feeling of all those hands roaming over his body, exploring and savouring. He can’t envision he has teased them so much without even realising, but the reverence with which they touch him is real enough.

His own hands don’t sit idle and he buries them in the thick mane of Remus’ hair, rejoicing at the softness of it. He moves them down over the man’s shoulders, noticing the muscle underneath, traces the scars gingerly, marvels at the contrast with the smooth skin.

Harry pushes him on his back and licks down his chest, teeth grazing his abdomen. He swirls his tongue around in Draco’s navel and Remus silences his moan with a kiss.

He hardly knows anymore what his name is, let alone who is doing what. His hands find more skin and he lets his nails dig in to it, extracting a moan from either of the two. He giggles when he feels the tongue trailing down his thigh to the back of his knee. Remus sucks his neck and softly drags his sharp teeth over the flesh.

Harry is suddenly on the other side, mimicking the action. Draco curls his toes with pleasure, not knowing which touch to lean in to. He settles for dragging his nails over their backs simultaneously and smirks when he hears the groans.

Remus’ lips are on his own and he hears him say. 

“I kiss your lips, I’m all you feel.”

Harry places butterfly kisses on his eyelids and sighs.

“I kiss your eyes, I’m all you see.”

Both of them place a kiss on his temple and he hears them chorus. 

“I kiss your mind, I’m all you need.”

Draco bites back the ‘yes’ on his lips and moans instead. He responds to the kiss he is presented with and nearly bites down on his tongue when his cock is engulfed again. It almost feels like someone’s about to swallow it, and at the rate it’s going, they may get their wish.

He manages to communicate that to Remus by tugging on his hair and getting him back up and by the knowing smirk he can tell that the man is already quite aware. 

“Draco, please, will you?” Harry whispers to him and there’s no mistaking what he wants. Draco wants to say ‘yes’ more than anything but he can’t find the strength so he just nods. Those eyes so close to his, nearly giving off sparks, it is a marvel he can respond at all.

Harry lies down on his stomach and Remus helps Draco up. 

“The little strumpet. Is he not enchanting like that, with his arse in the air?” Remus whispers and Draco couldn’t agree more. Nothing so sordid for the boy who lived as being fucked up the arse by his ex-nemesis. No, the little bastard actually makes it in to a   
_favour_ , one Draco cannot deny.

He is still slick from Remus’ earlier attempt to eat him alive and wonders if he can hold on long enough to prepare Harry while the boy makes all those needy noises.

“Easy you little slag. Go on Draco, he’s ready.” Remus says mirthfully and Draco obeys.

There is no question about it, he was born to bugger Harry Potter. The way they fit together is amazing, and the sounds the boy produces rival a chorus of Angels. He has never marked him for wanton and regrets it. 

He feels Remus get in to a position behind him and his mind hurries to supply him with the most pleasurable imagery. He thinks that perhaps he should have burned the Malfoy rulebook a long time ago.

Remus doesn’t bother to prepare him and he remembers that the two have watched him, they have seen every little thing. He doesn’t mind quite so much when the hard length penetrates him and pushes him even further in to Harry. They move together for so far that is possible and they all know they will never last long. Draco between them is trying especially hard to prolong the inevitable. 

When Harry utters the strangled cry in to the pillow he is gnawing Draco lets himself go and joins with a cry of his own, Remus not far behind. They collapse on top of each other and it takes only a few seconds for Draco to start struggling.

“Geroff.”

The two laugh, and Remus rolls off him to his left.

“You really have a crappy mood in the morning,” Harry says.

He smiles at them.

“I do.”

But he is not so sure it will last.

They hear the sounds of clapping and lift their heads a fraction to see who it is. Severus is standing by the door in his dark purple robe with an amused expression on his face. He raises a cup in the air and they realise that the bed is blocking all the coffee. 

“I think I’ll join you,” he says, his eyes sparkling wickedly. “You seem to have cut off my other source of morning entertainment.”

* * *

“Damn.”

“Well said.”

* * *


End file.
